The Degradation (translation)

Samantha and Harry

August 19, 2012

3 days before Samantha's death

"Harry..."

No answer. The first rays of the sun barely penetrate the room, and the star-studded ceiling still glows. He is lying on his stomach, his hand under the pillow, burying his head in it. He's sleeping. She straddles his back and leans down to kiss the back of his head.

"Haz..." She whispers in his ear, nipping gently at his earlobe "Get up..." he grumbles and she smiles, stroking his thighs. "Baby..." he grunts again. "Come on."

Her hands slide down his back. Goosebumps run through his body. And she knows she won. She strokes his thighs again, and he whispers as he turns.

"Let me sleep."

She can't help but laugh, she likes it when he grumbles in the morning. He has a beautiful sleepy and hoarse voice. She kisses his shoulder.

"Don't make me tickle you. "he's grumbling again. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to wake up. Wants to sleep somewhere else... 300 hours. "I'm actually going to do it."

She starts tickling him.

"Ugh, Sam."

When he hears her laugh , he can't help but smile. He gives up. He knows that everything was lost from the very beginning. He always loses when it comes to her. He opens his eyes and with a skillful movement changes positions, appearing on top. He presses her against the mattress, sitting between her legs. He strokes her face with his hands and leans on his elbows to avoid crushing her.

"One day, I'll throw you out the door."

She smiles at his sleepy eyes and strokes the pillow mark on his cheek.

"You'll never do that."

"Oh, I will."

"No."

"I hate you."

"I love you, too."

Now he's smiling. A gentle, kind smile before he kissed her.

***

He liked to sleep. She always woke with the first rays of the sun. He was lucky that morning. Usually she puts on a vinyl record, starts singing and dancing, jumping on the bed until he finally opens his eyes. He grumbled, and the more he grumbled, the more she liked it. The more she liked it, the more she smiled. And the more she smiled, the more he liked it, too.

They had their own habits, and even if he hated waking up so early , he loved every one of them.

That morning, they made love. Their bodies were entwined in the middle of the white sheets. They were as affectionate and gentle as ever. They knew each other by heart. She was thinking of his pleasure. He was thinking of her. He loved her every breath. They loved being one. She felt safe in his arms, and he loved it when she was safe. The thread that bound them was strong. Indestructible.

They didn't like words. All that «I love you» stuff wasn't for them. They didn't need it.

If he had only known that this was the last time they had made love , the words would have come out of his mouth:

"I love you, Sam."

If she had only known that this was the last time she could give herself to him, she would have answered:

"I love you too, Harry."

If only they knew that this was the last time they could love each other like this.If only they knew that this was their last chance.